Two Solitary Men
by noenigma
Summary: Just a short character piece exploring the early relationship of Lewis and Hathaway.


Trying to get a handle on some aspects of the relationship between Lewis and Hathaway for a story I mean to be writing, I ended up with this character piece on the pair.

Disclaimer: This is solely for fan purposes. No copyright infringement intended.

Two Solitary Men

The CID partnership of Lewis and Hathaway began as that of two solitary men.

Inspector Robbie Lewis was a man of few words. He hadn't always been that way. Once, in another lifetime, he'd been known to natter on a bit. But that had been before. He wasn't the same man he'd been back then.

His life was divided into the time before and the time after…his own personal dating system. Before London and what happened there December 19, 2003 and After London. The life he'd lived before London had been full and as happy as he thought anyone probably had a right to expect; that after London empty and more painful than he could ever have imagined when he'd lived that other life. Before he'd had the family and the job, now he only had the job…and even it wasn't the same.

There'd been friends then and there still were but…even though some of them were the same as those he'd had before, the friendships had changed. He'd been marked by grief, and he wasn't the only one who knew it. Instead of friendly, meaningless chatter there were now poignant silences, forced cheer to cover the silences, and sooner or later halted, hushed '_how are you doing's_ that weren't about his health. No wonder he found he had little to say for it was 5 years on, and those concerned '_how are you doing's_ could still reduce him near to tears and block his throat with a lump the size of the hole in his heart. It was easier for everyone concerned if he kept himself to himself.

Certainly, for the daughter and son whose lives had also been divided into the time before and after what happened in London. They could hardly recognize the father they remembered from their childhood in the new Lewis. And they missed the old Lewis just as much as they missed their mother. If London would have come at a different point in their lives…things might have been different. But, they'd already been spreading their wings, and they'd both found it easier to flee the emptiness of their home rather than stay and face their sorrow together.

Their own grief had been more than they could handle; facing their father's…that was something they could only do from a distance. A great distance in the son's case. He'd run all the way to Australia though he couldn't have known that his father's memories of the time he'd spent there seeing the sights and traveling in a caravan with his mother would ensure his dad never followed him there. They didn't desert Lewis all the way, nor did their dad just let them go. They spoke on the phone, sent the occasional email, and the less frequent cards and gifts, and, in the case of Lewis and his daughter, planned visits that something almost always seemed to derail. It was easier that way. And surviving in the time after London was hard enough already.

So the after London Lewis was surrounded by an invisible barrier of aloneness, and he found that to be better all around.

Sergeant James Hathaway didn't think of himself as aloof or standoffish though he was aware that was how others saw him. He was reserved, not snobbish; quiet, not shy. He would have liked others to see him as more friendly and open, but it just wasn't him. It had never been easy for him to be outgoing…well, that really wasn't true. As a boy at Crevecoer he'd joined right in, been a part of the fun and laughter. But, somewhere between those early days and now, he'd found his place more on the sidelines watching rather than joining in. Maybe when his dad took the new job and left Crevecoer with all of its familiar and loved places and the kids on the estate…no, it had been earlier. Something had happened earlier that had made him happier to be the quiet one escaping all the attention, but he couldn't say what that something had been. Whatever it was, it had left him on the outside. And quite honestly, regardless of the opinions of others, he liked it there.

He wasn't afraid of intimacy on a purely physical level neither was he averse to performing in public or he'd never have joined the band. But, he wasn't into sharing his feelings, hopes and fears, or even thoughts with others. A private person—that's what he was. A private person and quite content with that even if others thought that was 'middle-aged' and somewhat…odd. It was just him.

Inspector Lewis was aware that Hathaway, for reasons the after London Lewis didn't have the wherewithal to discover, also kept himself distanced from the rest of the world. Maybe not in the areas Lewis couldn't see like playing in his band or his love life, but on the job Hathaway isolated himself from their colleagues. And Lewis was aware that Hathaway's aloofness did him no favors, instead it stirred up animosity…something of which a graduate entry officer naturally already had a fair share. The Lewis before London would have reached out and tried to break though his sergeant's reserve, but the Lewis after London let it stand unchallenged.

It was easier that way, and well, he wouldn't have welcomed anyone poking their nose into his life and trying to force him out of his shell. He had his reasons for living his life at arm's length, and who was he to say his sergeant's weren't just as valid? He did take the odd pint with the younger man when he offered though sitting in a pub swigging ale never failed to remind him of the time before when he'd done the same with Morse…and those memories carried with them their own sense of loss. And when, for some reason or another, Hathaway showed up on his front stoop, he always invited him in for a beer or bite or both. Those were times of shared silence more than camaraderie unless they were in the process of worrying over a case.

They weren't a bad team, the two of them. Hathaway was a good cop; Lewis was lucky to have him as his sergeant. He might never break through Hathaway's reserve, and he had no wish for Hathaway to break through his, but they got on. They generally got the job done even if they were a couple of antisocial sods.

The job had always been a large part of Lewis' life, before and after London. He'd wanted to be a copper since he was a young lad, and he'd loved the job in those before years. Loved its challenges, loved the satisfaction that came with solving a case, loved working with the other chaps down at the station and Morse, loved it all. The after London Lewis…did he still love the job? Besides the fact it filled up the empty hours and kept him from going mad? When he thought on it, he found to his surprise that he did. It wasn't just something he did to pass time or get a paycheck. He wondered if that meant there was hope for him after all.

Hathaway, he suspected, loved the job as well. Though it hadn't been his first love, and he was still new enough to it that more than once he'd considered chucking it in when he came up against some of its uglier aspects. Lewis hoped he'd continue to stick it out, and he hoped Hathaway knew it without being told. Because if he'd ever known how to say such things, he'd forgotten how in this time after London.

Sergeant Hathaway, for his part, though comfortable and at home with his isolation, recognized that for his boss…it was something else altogether. A defense mechanism, a shield against the pain of loss and reminders of his bereavement. Whereas his own was natural (or if it wasn't the wound that had driven him to be the reserved observer instead of the active participant was very old and safely buried), Lewis' was unhealed and festering.

Hathaway had a curious soul, and he was intrigued with the silences his boss hid behind. He tried not to pry, always pulling back when his casual questions or interest aroused Lewis' self-protective ire. Of course, he didn't have to pry. He could simply listen. For though Lewis kept himself emotionally distant from those who were close to him, he was remarkably open with those who were not. Hathaway had learned more about the man listening to him interview strangers than he ever had by talking to Lewis himself. And he learned just as much from the momentary pauses and hesitations as he did from the words.

In his own quiet way, Hathaway did what he could to reach out and break through Lewis' defenses. He showed up in the evenings at the inspector's flat with no good excuse and sat beside him drinking down his beer and keeping him from being alone. He asked him along to the pub and the like. Lewis didn't seem to mind, though Hathaway couldn't tell if it helped. He kept on though both because he cared for the inspector and because…well, he enjoyed the company. Being with Lewis, whether on the job both intent and focused on the trail, in the office exchanging friendly banter, or just sitting around, was comfortable and also…what? Safe. He felt safe in Lewis' company.

Which wasn't to say, he'd forgotten whatever he'd seen lurking deep within the inspector in the early days of their partnership. No, he hadn't forgotten it. And he'd also not forgotten the few times, he'd managed to provoke Lewis' wrath. But, he'd always known that was coming and always known why. Poking his nose in what Lewis considered his own business, lying, and jeopardizing his reputation and career or life…things that would enrage most men. Oh, the inspector could be touchy about unimportant things too, but Hathaway wasn't afraid of his occasional bad temper. So most of the time, spending time with Lewis in the hopes of alleviating the inspector's loneliness was not a great sacrifice on the sergeant's part. And if it helped bring him out of his own isolation, Hathaway never gave it a thought.

Despite the differences in their ages, experiences, outside interests, and life view, over time, the two men more or less accidentally found that their partnership was no longer one of two solitary men but that of two friends.


End file.
